Johnny paled. I took that as a yes. I placed my foot on the side of the chair that was supporting his bent legs. “I’ve just cut your stomach in a way that the minute you drop your legs, your innards will spill from your body and crash onto the floor. You’ll die slowly. And it will be painful.”
Johnny’s breath was coming faster and faster. His body jerked as my foot rocked the chair beneath him.
“No, please,” he begged. I never moved my eyes from his stare. He must have realised he was going to die, as he said, “You’ll burn in hell one day, Artie.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But that day isn’t here yet, and until then …” I booted the chair from underneath him. The chair skidded across the room, and Johnny screamed as he held both legs in the air using only his strength.
“Bet you wish you’d hit the gym more instead of the pubs, hey, Johnny?” Charlie said, and my boys all stood beside me as we watched his legs lower, his core strength fading, and his slashes rip open.
On a final scream, his effort failed, and his legs fell until his toes scraped against the concrete of the basement floor. In seconds, the slashes I’d made tore open, and out spilled his bowels into a heap on the floor. Johnny’s eyes sought me out, and without another word, I walked for the stairs. I heard Freddie taking the pictures my old man would want to distribute to any other of our men who thought about fucking us over. Eric called for clean-up and the retrieval of the blow.
I pushed out into the warm night and slid into the van’s back seat. My boys all piled in, and we made our way back to the yacht. I stared out of the window, at Marbella and the drunks falling out of the bars. Johnny was right. I was a sadistic murderer. Because I felt fuck all about killing him. About gutting him like a pig despite knowing him my entire life.
All my emotions had burned in a blazing inferno alongside my sister and mum the night the cottage caught fire and it stripped them of their bones and flesh. I had nothing left. And whatever still lingered liked to kill and cause pain to others. It screamed at me to punish, to seek revenge for my family that died.
“I’m going to get badges made for us.” Eric started laughing. As did Freddie. “Club Nutjob Murderers.”
“Are we going back clubbing?” Freddie asked. “I’ve still got at least four hours of drinking and fucking left in me.”
I could feel Charlie looking at me. I didn’t give a fuck what we did. Clearly my cousin got that message. “Tom,” Charlie said to our driver. “Take us to the most debauched club in Marbella. We need to get all kinds of fucked up tonight.”
“You’ve got it,” Tom said. I pulled my mobile from my pocket.
GOOD JOB, SON, my old man had texted. Charlie nudged my arm and handed me the picture Freddie had taken of the basement. I was immediately met with blood and carnage and Johnny hanging as if on a stake with his innards hanging out … and fuck, it made me feel good.
Chapter Two
CHESKA
“If you stare at that bloody yacht any more, you’ll burn a hole in its side.” I looked from Arthur’s yacht to Arabella. She was lying on her lounger on the sun deck, head tilted back, her SPF-drenched dark skin shimmering under the blistering Marbella sun.
I took a sip of my mojito, letting the mint and lime cool me down. I saw a few of Arthur’s friends on the deck. But he wasn’t there. I hadn’t seen him since the night in the club. Not long after Ollie Lawson and his friends came, Arthur and his boys had disappeared. I had no idea where to. But they hadn’t come back.
My cheeks blazed when I thought back to him looking at me right in the eyes as he fingered the girl on his lap. As her eyes rolled back and she moaned out loud as her orgasm barrelled through her.
A hand waved in front of my face, pulling me back from the other night. From Arthur … his dark hair, blue eyes and black-rimmed glasses that just did something to me. I couldn’t read him. He was as impenetrable as Fort Knox. Even when his gaze had been locked on mine, I couldn’t get a bloody